


North by Northwest

by Brumeier



Series: Life in the Yukon [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Banter, Car Accidents, Friendship, M/M, Pre-Slash, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: Lantea is a quirky small town. For example, when Rodney inadvertently hits a dog on his way to work, he finds out that the town doctor is also a kind-of vet, and meets a Canadian Mountie up from Chicago. All while John admires Rodney from afar and is forced to make some repairs to Rodney's cabin.





	North by Northwest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squidgiepdx (squidgie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgie/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for the wonderful Squidgie!

_I hit a dog, and it’s not dead. What do I do? I mean, it just ran out in front of me. I wasn’t trying to hit it._

“McKay.”

_I put it in the back of the truck and drove it back to this shitty cabin you’re forcing me to live in, and it’s making terrible noises – the dog, not the cabin, although the fridge is still moaning – and I don’t know if there’s a vet out here in the boonies or not._

“McKay.”

_I didn’t know who else to call and you’re the landlord, and technically this almost-dead dog is on your property so that kind of makes it your problem, right?_

“Rodney!” John shouted into the phone. “You need to be very careful.”

_It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?_

“An injured animal is dangerous. Is it still in the back of the truck?”

_I didn’t want to move it again. You should hear the sounds it’s making, Sheppard. It’s awful. I didn’t mean to hit it, I really didn’t._

“I know you didn’t. Drive over to Doc Beckett’s. I’ll meet you there.”

_Okay. I can do that. I’m leaving right now. Sheppard…thanks._

John hung up and grabbed his keys. It was lucky he’d been home to get the call, instead of out at the airfield or up in the plane. McKay had sounded frantic and guilty, and John wondered whose dog he’d hit. Aside from Mongo and Lucky, the only other dogs in Lantea were Mitchell’s sled team, and he kept those huskies secured.

He was halfway out the door before he thought to call Beckett and give him a heads up.

*o*o*o*

“Easy does it now,” Beckett said.

The dog, which looked to have more wolf than dog in him, had been muzzled for everyone’s safety and very carefully transferred to a tarp so he could be carried inside. He was white beneath the spattering of mud and blood.

Aiden, John, and Beckett carried the dog into the clinic, while Beckett’s nurse Jissika held doors open and McKay wrung his hands. There was a room just for animal patients, adjacent to the room for human patients, and they very carefully set the dog down on the metal exam table.

“Are you sure you’re qualified to treat a dog?” McKay asked. “I don’t see vet credentials on your wall anywhere.”

“I may not have the training, but I’ve more than enough experience.” Beckett put on a surgical mask and gloves. “Aiden, lad, do you mind giving us a hand?”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Aiden said agreeably. 

“We’ll wait out front.” John grabbed hold of McKay’s elbow and steered him out of the exam room.

The waiting area was comprised of Jissika’s desk, a water cooler, and ten mis-matched straight-back chairs. John deposited McKay into one of the chairs and got him a cup of water.

“I didn’t mean to hit him,” McKay said for the fiftieth time.

“We’re all well aware of that,” John assured him.

“I mean, I’ve always been more of a cat person, you know? But I’m not morally opposed to dogs. Although yours really pushes the boundaries there.”

Mongo was an admittedly ugly hodge-podge of a dog, but he was loyal and big-hearted. John would put him up against an arrogant, stand-offish cat any day of the week.

“Do you know who he belongs to?”

John shook his head. “I don’t recognize him. We’ll get in touch with Mitchell, make sure he’s not missing one of his sled dogs, but this guy’s a wolf hybrid. I don’t know anyone who has one of those, not even Ronon.”

“Who’s Ronon?”

Before John could try and explain about Lantea’s resident wildman, the clinic door opened, and Sheriff Qinnauyauk came in.

“John. Dr. McKay.”

“Sheriff,” John said.

“It was an accident!” McKay blurted out.

Sheriff Q took a seat. “Of course it was. Tell me what happened.”

McKay launched into an overly detailed accounting of his day, which started with what he was certain was the onset of frostbite in his extremities – another not-so-subtle jab at the inadequacy of the cabin he was renting from John – and ended with him being a little distracted and not stopping in time when the wolf-dog ran in front of the truck.

The Sheriff nodded. “I radioed out to Mitchell. It’s not one of his.”

“Might be wild,” John suggested.

“I’m looking into it.” The Sheriff stood and stretched. “I’ll check in with the doc later.”

“What do we do now?” McKay asked.

“We wait.”

*o*o*o*

_This is Aiden Ford, still filling in for Blair while he’s in Fairbanks. Sorry for the late start, K-LAN listeners. I was helping Doc Beckett with a medical emergency. If anyone knows anything about a local wolf-hybrid, hit up Sheriff Q. Now, we still have some time left for Opera Hour, so let’s get right into it. Here’s some_ Bohemian Rhapsody.

John chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think he gets it.”

“I’m not gonna argue with Queen,” Jon replied. He set the plates down on the table. “Your lunch is on the house, Dr. McKay.”

“Why?”

“You’ve had a traumatic morning.”

McKay watched him leave and then turned his puzzled gaze on John. “What’s with this town?”

“You really want to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

McKay looked down at his plate. “Are we eating horse?”

John sighed. “You’re eating a BLT.”

Hitting that dog had really thrown McKay for a loop. John hadn’t ever seen him so off-kilter. It was nice to know the man wasn’t heartless, but John didn’t know what to do with him.

The good news was that the wolf-dog was going to pull through. His wounds were mostly superficial, though he’d dislocated his hip. Beckett was going to keep him at the clinic until they either found his owner or released him back to the wild. 

Everyone who came into the Pegasus Café on the lunch hour stopped by to tell McKay they were sorry for his troubles, and to offer their theories on the origin of the wolf-dog. By the time lunch was over, McKay was back to his usually cranky self.

“I need to get back to work,” he grumbled. “I’ve had quite enough socializing for one day.”

John watched him go – McKay’s backside was always a pleasure to behold – and wondered if maybe he shouldn’t look into getting some caulk to plug up the gaps in the cabin walls.

*o*o*o*

“Well, I didn’t see that coming.”

John had stopped by the cabin, ostensibly to take a look at the fridge but mostly to check in on McKay, and found the wolf-dog sprawled out next to the fireplace eating his way through a box of doughnuts.

McKay looked embarrassed. “I felt bad leaving him alone at the clinic. I figured I owed him.”

“And the doughnuts?”

“Apparently his injuries don’t preclude him from being a thief.”

The wolf-dog gave a little chuffing woof, powdered sugar all over his muzzle. That probably wasn’t healthy, but John wasn’t about to try and wrestle the doughnuts away.

“Why are you here?” Rodney asked. “Please tell me it’s to fix the shower.”

“What’s wrong with the shower?”

John should’ve known better than to ask. He ended up having to get his toolbox from the truck and ripping out half of McKay’s shower to fix the water pressure. And he committed to coming back in the next couple of days to do some other repairs around the place.

It wasn’t much of a hardship, spending time with McKay. Especially when he wouldn’t stop talking about how much he was looking forward to his next shower now that he had adequate water pressure. As if John needed any additional reasons to picture the man naked.

“So what’s the plan with your furry friend?” John asked after the shower had been set to rights. He and McKay sat at the little kitchen table enjoying some cold Canadian beer while the wolf-dog in question systematically destroyed the now-empty doughnut box.

McKay shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t keep him obviously. Maybe that guy with the sled dogs can take him in. He seems pretty comfortable with people, don’t you think? Not like a wild dog would.”

He wasn’t wrong. Surely the wolf-dog had to belong to someone.

“And I did get some dog food. Oh, and the one-armed guy at the Café gave me some meat to put the dog meds in so I don’t have to risk getting my arm chewed off shoving pills down his throat.”

“His name is JB,” John supplied helpfully. 

McKay waved that off as inconsequential. He wasn’t great at remembering people’s names, John had noticed. 

“I need to go,” John said regrettably when he’d finished his beer. “I need to let Mongo out, and I have an afternoon flight to Fairbanks I need to prep for.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for fixing the shower. I’ll cross that off the very lengthy list of repairs.”

“You do that.” 

John stopped on his way to the front door to scratch the wolf-dog behind the ears, which he seemed to appreciate. The sling Doc Beckett had fashioned for the animal would hopefully allow for quick healing of the hip. 

“Good luck tonight,” John said to McKay. “If you want, I can stop by in the morning. Make sure your new friend hasn’t eaten you in the night.”

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” McKay replied. He was slowly peeling the label off his beer bottle. “You can stop by. You know. If you want.”

John rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, McKay.”

*o*o*o*

John rolled up to McKay’s cabin earlier than was probably necessary, in the hopes of catching the man fresh from the shower. He was thwarted by the arrival of another vehicle, a Jeep with rental plates. Who else would be visiting McKay that early?

With a box of doughnuts in hand – pulled out of his freezer the night before – John got out of his truck. Both front doors opened on the Jeep and two men got out. One was wearing a puffy down jacket and a blue knit cap pulled down low on his forehead. The other was dressed like a Mountie.

“Can I help you?” John asked, subtly insinuating himself between the strangers and McKay’s front door.

“Yes,” said the Mountie. “Thank you kindly for asking. We’ve been tracking a wolf and I believe he’s here or has been very recently. Have you seen him?”

“Tracking him?” John repeated. Maybe these guys were hunters.

“Trust me, pal, you don’t want to know the details,” said the man in the puffy jacket.

“I’ve surmised that he’s been injured, but not mortally given the small amount of blood we found.” The Mountie pointed at McKay’s truck. “That vehicle seems to have some front-end damage that could reasonably be caused by striking an animal. Is it yours?”

“Who are you? Sherlock Holmes?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. I’m Constable Benton Fraser, currently attached as a liaison officer with the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. This is Detective Ray Kowalski of the 27th precinct. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my –”

The front door of the cabin opened, and McKay popped his head out. “Sheppard? Why is there a constable in my yard?”

“He’s looking for your house guest.”

As if on cue, there was a bark from inside the cabin. The Mountie’s somber face broke out into a genuine smile. Probably not a hunter, then.

“You may as well come on in.” McKay ducked back inside but left the door open.

The wolf-dog was still sprawled by the fireplace, and there was a chewed-up package of shortbread cookies next to him. When the Mountie came in, the dog gave a chuff and wagged his tail.

“Diefenbaker. I’m glad to see you.” Fraser knelt down next to the animal and gently ran his hands over the few lacerations that had been sustained in the accident.

“Is that his name?” John asked incredulously.

“That’s the name of a former Prime Minister,” McKay said. “Better than Chrétien, I suppose.”

“So what happened?” Detective Kowalski asked. He pulled off his hat, his blonde hair standing up from the static.

“What happened is that your dog ran in front of my truck and I couldn’t stop in time. And to pay me back, he’s eating everything he can get his teeth into. I was saving those cookies!”

“That is no way to repay a kindness,” Fraser said, seemingly addressing the wolf-dog who made a growly noise in reply. “Well, that was clearly an accident. You have to remember you’re not a puppy anymore, and your reflexes aren’t what they once were.”

“Sheppard, he’s talking to the dog.”

“You get used to it,” Kowalski said. “You got any coffee?”

McKay had one cabinet shelf solely dedicated to the stuff, a row of neatly organized bags of Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee. Clint was going to have to start ordering it in double batches, since it was Caldwell’s favorite too. John himself had always been happy to get by with Folgers.

“I’d offer you breakfast but I don’t have anything,” McKay said.

“I brought doughnuts.” Only when John went looking for them, he found Diefenbaker had already swiped them and was halfway through the box.

“Your dog has deplorable manners.” McKay poured everyone coffee in the mismatched mugs that had accumulated at the cabin over the years. He saved the biggest one for himself. “I usually get breakfast at the Café. The food is surprisingly good for a town this small.”

Fraser nodded, standing at parade rest while he drank his coffee. “We passed by it on our way here. Looks like a nice town. You have a fine moose.”

“Moose? What moose?”

“McKay here gets up too late to see her. Myrtle is kind of the town mascot.”

Kowalski raised his eyebrows. “A moose named Myrtle?”

“Myrtle is a nice, traditional name,” Fraser said. “It’s also an evergreen bush.”

“That’s really fascinating, Fraser. Perhaps you’d like to discuss the history behind Bullwinkle? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a reference to a part of anatomy.”

“Actually, Ray, the animated moose was named after an actual man, whose last name was Bullwinkel. Different spelling.”

John exchanged a look with McKay. “Not to change the subject, but what brings you guys to town? Besides Diefenbaker.”

“We’re looking for a guy named Willard Palmer,” Kowalski said. “He’s a witness, escaped protective custody. We’re trying to find him before the bad guys do.”

He produced a picture, which John took his time studying. A lot of people had run away to Lantea, for a variety of reasons. Evan had come for recipes and stayed for Ronon. Caldwell had come in search of a legacy. Mitchell had come to check off the Iditarod on his bucket list and fell in love with Alaska. But this Palmer guy didn’t look at all familiar.

John passed the picture to McKay, who barely gave it a second glance. “I’m not great with faces. Or names.”

“Sorry,” John said. “Haven’t seen this guy around. I’m flying out to Fairbanks this afternoon, though. I can ask around at the airport, if you like.”

“Thank you kindly,” Fraser said. 

“Are you staying somewhere close by?”

Kowalski grimaced. “We’re camping.”

“In this weather?” McKay asked incredulously. 

“It’s very mild,” Fraser replied.

“For a polar bear, maybe.”

“Don’t be silly, Ray. Polar bears would never venture this far south.”

“There’s a B&B in town, they always have rooms available. And you won’t have to sleep on the ground.” John gave them directions.

“That’s more like it,” Kowalski said. He tipped back his coffee cup, draining it. “Let’s go, Fraser. We can book a room and I can ditch this oversized coat for a while.”

McKay gave the Mountie Diefenbaker’s meds, and the same instructions that Doc Beckett had given him the day before. Kowalski scooped up the wolf-dog with a groan and a muttered comment about too many doughnuts.

“If there’s ever anything we can do for you, in return for your kindness, please give us a call.” Fraser gave business cards to John and McKay with the contact information for the Canadian Consulate on them.

“I’m sure this’ll come in real handy,” McKay said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll let you know if I find out anything in Fairbanks.”

“Appreciate it,” Kowalski said. “Get the door, Fraser, before I burst something important.”

John and McKay followed them out and stood on the porch watching as the wolf-dog was carefully loaded into the Jeep and driven away.

“Does anything normal ever happen in this town?” McKay asked.

John shrugged. “Depends on your definition of normal.”

“This whole thing has put me behind schedule. You mind waiting while I take a shower?”

“Nope. Knock yourself out.”

“That’s a stupid turn of phrase,” McKay grumbled as he headed toward the bathroom.

John spent a torturous fifteen minutes listening to McKay moan and groan in the shower, presumably because the water pressure was finally to his liking and not for other reasons.

Normal was overrated.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** I wanted to write something for Squidgie’s birthday, but it took longer than I had hoped so now it’s a belated gift. This is also my first time writing _due South_ and I hope I did okay, since I never really got past the RayV seasons. I did watch a lot of YouTube clips of RayK, though. ::grins:: All mistakes are mine and were made with the best intentions.


End file.
